


Dearly Departed

by moonbeambucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Death, F/M, Fluff, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 17:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12686511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbeambucky/pseuds/moonbeambucky
Summary: After a mission you learn your grandmother has passed away. Bucky accompanies you to her funeral.





	Dearly Departed

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted on tumblr for @supersoldierslover Taw’s 3k Writing Challenge. My prompt was #21 - Going to a funeral together

You inhale triumphantly, letting out the satisfying breath in response to another successful mission. Your body is sore and a little banged up but otherwise alright. Everyone is safe and thanks to T’Challa and his Wakandan reinforcements a large Hydra base in Kenya has been taken down.

As your captives are being interrogated you use this opportunity to get cleaned up, grabbing your bag from the jet you look forward to changing into clean clothes. You find a washroom, turning your phone on you set it to the side as you splashed cold water on your face, hissing as it stings the abrasion on your temple. You try to be a little more mindful as you continue to wash away the dirt, sweat and pure exhaustion off of your face.

You groan, feeling the ache in your muscles from the stretch of your body over the sink. Several dings erupt from your phone at once, alerting you to the various messages you’ve accrued. Taking a towel to gently pat away the wetness off your face, you begin to closely inspect your injury before a new ding forces you to grab your phone.

It’s common for you to expect a few messages from your Mom, whether you’re on a mission or not she’s always checking in. You have a few texts, the latest from your Dad asking you to call him and several voicemails from both your parents, an unknown number and your cousin. A brief pang of anxiety urges you to listen to the message from the unknown number. Ugh, a phone scam. Shouldn’t you be exempt from those? You’re an Avenger! What good was Tony Stark if he couldn’t even block these calls?

You listen to the voicemails in order. The first is your Mom checking in as expected. The next is from your cousin, the message isn’t that clear but she sounds stuffed up. Her kid was sick last week so maybe she is too. Your Mom left another message, wanting to schedule a dinner with you and Bucky. She was anxious to meet the man who had your heart.

As you listened to the voicemail from your Dad it felt like time stood still. The sorrow in his voice told you everything before he spoke the actual words, “Y/N, give me a call please. Grandma passed away.” You couldn’t believe it.

Well, that’s a lie, you  _could_  believe it you just didn’t want to. She was 94 and mostly bedridden. After your Grandpa passed a few years ago she was never the same. She had always shown signs of forgetfulness but it was expected as she grew older. A decade ago she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s but was able to manage it for a while.

With the absence of your grandfather her mind slipped away. Dementia had set in and it was difficult to watch the vibrant woman who helped raise you become a shell of her former self. Sometimes there was a glimmer of recognition in her eyes when you visited her. You would hold her hand and talk about anything. She would babble unintelligible sounds in response but you continued, biting back the pain you felt seeing her this way.

Other times her condition worsened, she laid in bed with a scowl on her face, refusing to eat or drink, not wanting to be touched by the family her mind deemed to be strangers. You tried to speak with her, to get her to remember you; surely she could never forget her first grandchild but nothing you did made a difference.

Your visits became less frequent as the pressures of real life increased but the guilt never left you. You felt like you should be visiting her more, but when you were lucky to have time off from a mission or training you wanted nothing more than to just relax or sleep in. You called her when you remembered, her aide Maria would put you on speaker or you would attempt to FaceTime when one of your parents were there.

The last time you saw her was for her birthday a few months ago. You were shocked as you entered her bedroom, convinced that the ghostly figure in front of you wasn’t your grandmother. She was so frail, her skin was near translucent as it hung off her bones, her once beautiful hair was now sparse, exposing most of her scalp. Her face was the worst of it. She was pale with hollowed cheeks and her vacant eyes sunk deep into her expressionless face. You put on a brave face, staying there while the family “celebrated” around her. Now she’s gone. This wasn’t a shock but it hurts all the same.  

You left the washroom, forgoing the opportunity to change your clothes. You pushed past a group of faceless people in your tear blurred vision. Making your way outside, you took a deep inhale, expanding your lungs with a big swell of crisp air before calling your Dad.

Bucky noticed the way you left the building, dodging quickly through a crowd of people with your head down. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. When you didn’t return quickly he decided to follow you outside.  
The phone hadn’t left your hands as you switched between calls, texts, and emails simultaneously. You asked if there was anything you could do but your Dad assured you that everything was in order. Of course it was but the guilt ate at you, just showing up didn’t feel like it would be enough. You wanted to do more, to prove to yourself that you were a good grandchild.

“Y/N is everything alright?” Bucky said softly, interrupting your thoughts and startling you.

He sat next to you, taking in your tear stained cheek as you told him the news. His arms wrapped around you, bringing you close to his warm body, your hand wiped away tears as you silently cried.

You pulled yourself together enough to head back inside. Steve, Tony and the rest of the team were in a conference room discussing the details learned from the interrogation. Quietly taking a seat you waited for the opportunity to inform the team about what happened. As they discussed the next location everyone would be headed to your mind drifted, reliving bittersweet memories in your head.

“Y/N did you get that?” Steve asked, though you didn’t hear the question.  
“I’m sorry Steve, everyone,” you spoke, making eye contact with the faces around you, “My grandmother passed away and I need to go home.”

Your words seemed to suck the life out of the room as everyone’s faces dropped, offering their condolences. Sam immediately pulled you in for a hug with Wanda standing next you, rubbing comforting circles on your back.

“Steve, I’d really like to be with Y/N. Do you need me for the next mission?” Bucky asked out of courtesy, knowing that he would be accompanying you no matter what the answer.  
“Of course Buck, we’ll manage,” Steve replied.

“Thank you,” you repeated over again in response to their sympathies, not being able to commit to a smile. “I need to find a flight. Where’s the nearest airport? Do I even have my passport?” you rambled, pressing the heel of your palms into your eyes.

T’Challa’s velvety smooth voice interrupted your thoughts, “I can help with accommodation.” He stood beside you, grabbing your shoulder with a firm hold, “It is important for you to be there to honor your grandmother.”

Though he meant well T’Challa’s words left you feeling hollow, letting the guilt beat you up again for not actually being there for her. Pushing your thoughts down you thanked him for his offer to provide a jet for you and Bucky.

 

Much to Tony’s dismay it was a standard quinjet. “You know, one day I’ll get my hands on that tech of yours,” he remarked to T’Challa.  
The Wakandan King smirked, “I’d like to see you try,” he taunted.

After saying goodbye to everyone Bucky grabbed your bag and led you to the jet. He suggested you get some rest during the trip home and as nice as that sounded you couldn’t, your mind was spinning, unable to give you peace.

You began working on a eulogy, knowing what you wanted to say about your Grandma but not having the skill or patience to properly write it down. You ended up erasing a lot more words than you wrote. After staring at the screen of your laptop for too long your heavy eyelids felt desperate to close. Shifting in the chair to find a comfortable position you shut your eyes but you didn’t expect any sleep would come.

Bucky looked over towards you, your creased brows showed tension on your face and he vowed to do anything to make you feel better. He loved you with every fiber of his being, wanting nothing more than to return the love you gave him, the love he often felt he was unworthy of. You opened your heart to him and he was grateful for you.

It wasn’t long before you were back at the compound. Bucky offered to make dinner but despite your growling stomach you declined. Heading straight to your closet you pushed aside hangers, throwing clothes to the ground in search of an appropriate outfit. After a few more phone calls with family you called towards Bucky letting him know you were going to take a shower.

Peeling off your jumpsuit you tossed it as aside you climbed into the steamy shower. Tipping your head back to wet your hair you let the water run down your body as your mind drifted again, thinking to a time you slept over Grandma’s house. Remembering that she would read to you before bed, tickling you as she tucked you in, the room filled with your shared laughter.

You sunk to the bottom, crying at the realization that she’s gone. The hot water poured down on your body, your skin flushed under the uncomfortable heat but you didn’t care, your grief didn’t allow you to move. You hadn’t heard the knocks at the door, Bucky entered the bathroom, panicking when he did not see your form through the fogged up shower doors.

“Y/N! Y/N are you alright?” he shouted frantically, sliding open the shower door. You picked your head up from its cradled position between your knees, looking up at him, shaking your head back and forth as you bawled.

He reached his arm out to gently caress your face. “Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed. “Let me help you.” You nodded, wiping away the tears and water from your face.

Bucky removed his clothes and stepped into the shower. He helped get you to your feet, pulling your burning hot body to his cool chest by comparison. One arm wrapped around your back as the other adjusted the temperature before bringing it back around you, pressing your bare form closer to him with a comforting embrace. He kissed the top of your head as you cried on his chest, your arms held his back as you stood together, naked and intimate but not at all sexual.

Pulling away to take a deep breath, Bucky lifted up your chin. “It’s gonna be okay, Y/N,” he whispered softly, pressing his lips to your forehead. Tears silently streamed from your eyes, indistinguishable from the flowing water from the showerhead.

Uncapping the shampoo bottle, Bucky squirted a generous amount in his hands and brought it to your hair. He softly massaged your scalp with his fingertips as he lathered up the strands, making sure that suds did not get in your eyes. He unhooked the showerhead to rinse the shampoo from your hair before repeating the process with conditioner.

When it was time to wash your body Bucky grabbed your loofah and lathered it with body wash. His steel blue eyes met yours, waiting for permission to continue. The corners of your lips turned up slightly as you nodded in approval, appreciative of the love and respect Bucky had for you. He gently scrubbed your body bringing the loofah up and down your arms, across your back and shoulders, down the long line of your neck down to your breasts. He was delicate, keeping a chaste touch as he ran the loofah over them.

When you were finished Bucky wrapped you in a towel and brought you to the bed. He sat behind you, doing his best to comb through your hair without causing you discomfort. When he was finished you leaned your head on his shoulder, taking his hand in yours.

“Thank you Bucky,” you murmured, feeling his hand squeeze yours in response.

You changed into loose clothes and ate a sandwich he prepared. Your mind didn’t want to eat but you needed the energy only so you could continue writing your eulogy. You stayed up long after midnight to finish it, quietly crawling into bed so you didn’t disturb Bucky.

He was a light sleeper and so when he felt the dip in the mattress his eyes shot open, his arms reaching out to you, cuddling your body as you slept.

* * *

Sometimes waking up early can be satisfying. Waking up early after only a few hours of sleep is not, and the thought of conversing all day with people about your Grandmother’s death made you want to crawl back in bed for the next six months.

You did your best trying to cover the deep bags under your eyes with makeup, debating if you should wear sunglasses despite the abundance of clouds. You put on a three-quarter sleeve black dress with black stockings and matching heels in the color of the day.

You groan as you give yourself a once over, fixing your hair so it covers the abrasion on your temple. Bucky waited for you in the common room, dressed in a dark grey suit that accentuated his broad frame. He slicked back his long hair, tying it back in a small bun at the base of his neck. He stood up as you entered the room and you commented on how handsome he looked.

Bucky’s thumb rubbed comforting circles on your knee during the drive to the funeral home. When you arrived you shut your eyes and breathed deeply to try to stave off the anxieties that were creeping their way through your body. Bucky gave you words of encouragement as he pulled out a leather glove for his metal hand. You insisted he didn’t have to do that but he wanted to, this wasn’t the time or place for any unwanted attention.

Gripping his hand tightly you walk into the building, squeezing when you see your Grandmother’s name on a bulletin board to direct attendees. You find your parents at the end of a hallway, letting go of Bucky’s hand to hug them. Tears escaped your eyes and you harshly wiped them away, hoping you didn’t rub your concealer off as well.

Bucky stood beside you, hands clasped together in front of him as he waited for you.

“Mom, Dad, this is James,” you introduced him. He shook both of their hands, offering his condolences.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you James. I’m just sorry it’s under these circumstances,” your father said regretfully.

As Bucky and your Dad spoke your Mom mouthed, “He’s cute.” Your head dropped with a chuckle, rubbing stray tears away as you checked your eyes in a compact mirror.

Your parents stood in the lobby as they waited to speak with the funeral director. The service wasn’t for another hour so you took the opportunity to go into the room taking Bucky with you.

The cherry wood casket was polished to perfection, a spray of white lilies adorned the top with a large white bow. You were glad the casket was closed, choosing to remember your Grandma in a better state than she had recently been in.

Bucky was staring at a large photograph of her, a black and white portrait showcasing her beautiful smile. Her curls were peaking out through a small hat adorned with flowers and beads.

“She’s beautiful Y/N. You have her smile,” Bucky commented as he admired her.

You laughed, reminded yourself that Bucky was technically only a few years older than her. You locked hands, “I think she would have really liked you,” you remarked.

Your eyes drifted to the large arrangement of flowers beside her photo. It was a tall display of pink roses and carnations, your Grandma’s favorites. Every week your Grandpa would bring her a bouquet of pink carnations, splurging when he had a few extra dollars to give her pink roses. After his passing she would buy herself the flowers, arranging the vase next to a photo of them from their 50th wedding anniversary.

Soon the room was filled with people, familiar faces you couldn’t quite place interspersed between family and friends. Everyone came up to you with their tearful hugs, you felt like you were drowning in a sea of condolences. Bucky stood beside you offering his comfort as you had repetitive conversations with everyone.

As the service began you nervously fiddled with the hem of your dress. Bucky took your hand into his, the warmth transferred to your own cold and clammy hand providing temporary comfort. You swallowed harshly when it was your turn to give your speech.

The papers rustled loudly as you placed them down on the podium heightening your nerves. You began to read the eulogy but as you said your Grandmother’s name a hard lump got caught in your throat, you tried to continue speaking but your voice was too shaky; you had to stop to avoid a full breakdown.

The longer you paused the more anxious you felt as every face in the crowded room stared at you, all eyes focused and waiting. Your vision started to blur again with tears until you focused on one face, one pair of eyes, overcast like a thunderstorm out at sea.

Bucky mouthed “you can do this” and that helped you gather your thoughts, continuing your speech as you shared fond memories of the woman you loved so much. Returning to your seat you took Bucky’s hand, intertwining your fingers and leaned your head on his shoulder.

People shuffled out of the room when the service was over, some lingered in the lobby of the building as they awaited instructions for the next destination.

You left Bucky to use the restroom, mainly to check that your eye makeup hadn’t smudged from crying. Upon exiting you saw your Dad standing alone, reflectively staring into the room where his mother previously laid. You stood next to him, unsure of what more could be said after today.

“That was a nice speech Y/N,” he spoke, breaking the silence.

Sighing deeply you nodded and thanked him. Simultaneously you both commented on how much you’ll miss her.

“She’ll be with Grandpa now,” you said. His eyebrows raised as his lips pressed flat into a bittersweet smile. “Oh speaking of, nice touch with the flowers Dad, they’re beautiful.”

Your father turned his head curiously, “I didn’t buy any flowers. Your Uncle might have, the peace lilies I think.”  
“What about the big display, the roses and carnations?”  
“That wasn’t me. I forget what the card on the delivery said… Binky maybe or …” he went on.  
“Bucky?!” you exclaimed.  
“Yeah Bucky! That’s it. Who is that?” he asked.

You left without answered, practically running to find Bucky. He was in the middle of a conversation with your Aunt but you kindly asked if he could be excused, dragging him to the corner of the lobby to talk.

“Bucky, the flowers…I just found out. How did you know?” you wondered.

A smile broke on his face as he answered, “You told me. Well, not really.” His hand stroked the nape of his neck. “You mentioned it a while ago, long before we were together actually, but I remembered,” he said, staring at you through his dark lashes.

“I can’t believe you remembered that. Thank you Bucky for everything, for being here with me and…,” you sighed. “I love you,” you said, leaning up to press your lips to his for a tender kiss.  
“I love you too Y/N,” he replied.

Your parents stood outside their car, anxious to depart. “No we have to wait for Y/N and Bucky,” your Mom pointed out.  
“Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky? I thought Y/N was with James,” your Dad questioned.

Your arms were looped through Bucky’s as you exited the building, turning your head to the side as you watching your Mom laughing at your Dad.

“I wonder what’s so funny,” Bucky pondered.

You smiled, walking to the car together, thankful to know that Bucky is, and will always be, by your side.


End file.
